


hands, touching hands, reaching out, touching me, touching you

by escapismandsharpobjects



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: "hey hey this is no time to sleep", Concussions, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, i am so sorry about my title but i am an idiot and i thought it was funnie, its about the hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29302491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escapismandsharpobjects/pseuds/escapismandsharpobjects
Summary: febuwhump day 8: "hey, hey, this is no time to sleep."“Hank!” he shouts, whirling around just in time to see the shiny metallic shape of a baseball bat as it collides with the side of his head.
Relationships: Nick Burkhardt & Hank Griffin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	hands, touching hands, reaching out, touching me, touching you

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi hi!!! i did a lot of research on concussions and getting hit in the head with a baseball bat for this lmao. anyway this is a little later out than usual but did yall see the new eps of 911 and lone star?? esp 911 like..damn!! no spoilers from me but yeah what a night. but youre not here for that youre here to see nick hurt so without further ado...  
> (title from sweet caroline because i am so stupid and i thought it was really funny but fitting)

Nick walks a few feet behind Hank, sweeping his flashlight in large arcs across the dark, deserted landscape of Forest Park. It’s eerie, being here in the middle of the night, not a soul around save for them. He keeps thinking he hears things, stops to focus, hears nothing, and has to jog to catch up with Hank. The last thing he wants is for them to get separated when they’ve got a murderer on the loose.

“Hey, Nick,” Hank calls out from ahead of him. “That look like anything to you?” He shines his flashlight on a pile of rocks, then onto Nick, who shrugs.

“Maybe,” he calls back, hurrying to join Hank. As he gets closer, he sees what exactly Hank had meant - there’s a stain on the rock that is almost  _ definitely  _ blood. 

“Definitely  _ something,” _ he agrees. Hank nods, pulling out his phone to take a picture. Nick stays standing behind him, in an almost defensive position. Something just feels  _ off.  _ Most likely, it’s the whole murderous atmosphere, given the job, but he can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more. 

He stops thinking along this line when he hears Hank crack a glowstick to mark the potential evidence. They then continue deeper into the woods of the park, flashlights sweeping the area in front of them.

They’ve just passed a thick cluster of trees when Nick freezes, Hank still walking along in front of him. A twig snaps behind him. 

“Hank!” he shouts, whirling around just in time to see the shiny metallic shape of a baseball bat as it collides with the side of his head. 

He feels nothing for a second, thinks  _ what just happened?,  _ and then a bright white light explodes behind his eyes, as pain unlike any he’s ever felt before erupts in his skull, and he feels himself collapse to the ground, distantly, as though he’s not even in his body. 

Pain courses through his head, so intense that he can’t make a sound (though he wouldn’t be able to tell even if he  _ was  _ making a sound, because the pain rushing in his head overwhelms everything else). He tries to open his eyes, but all he can see are bright spots, though his vision is darkening at the edges simultaneously. He brings his hands up to his head like he’s trying to stop it from breaking apart beneath them. It hurts.  _ It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts... _

Very slowly, he becomes aware that someone is touching him. And then their fingers come in contact with the side of his head, pushing his own hands away. He groans at the new contact, the only noise he’s capable of making.

“You with me?” the voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater, but Nick manages to make it out. He clumsily taps the hand on his face with his hand that it had replaced. 

“H…” 

“Shh, don’t try to talk. I got you. Just breathe.”

_ Breathe... _ he can do that. He inhales shakily, feeling like the air is swelling up inside his brain. He feels sick. He doesn’t know where he is or who is with him. Something tells him he’s safe with whoever it is, which is some comfort, but overall he feels awful. Afraid. 

And  _ tired.  _ He  _ really  _ wants to just fall asleep, because if he’s asleep then nothing will hurt. His eyes are already closed, and he tries his best to make the rest of his body follow suit. 

“Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep,” he hears someone say, accompanied by a sharp squeeze of his hand. 

Not that the directive had been particularly needed. His body is apparently going to  _ refuse  _ to let him get anywhere near sleep, having decided that the pain is too much to do anything but focus completely on. He groans again, and the hand touches his shoulder. 

“Nick,” its owner says. He  _ knows  _ who it is...but the pain radiating through his head is too intense to  _ actually  _ let him think of the person. All he has is simple recognition. He fumbles for the hand again, grabs it tightly, too tightly, probably, but the person lets him hold on as an especially intense wave of pain courses through his head. He scrunches his eyes shut even tighter, for the first time feeling the hot tears pouring seemingly instinctively and involuntarily down his face. His head is going to  _ explode.  _

The person says something. “Hospital,” it sounds like. “Stay with me,” after a beat. 

He wishes his mind would drift, on to any topic other than  _ how much _ it hurts. The pain is the most intense on his left temple, presumably where he’d been hit. It radiates out from there, covering a large portion of his skull, and it drives inwards, too, pounding into his brain and preventing him from thinking much of anything. Even with his eyes closed, the world feels like it's spinning, or maybe just his head is what’s spinning, but in any case he’s horribly disoriented and nauseous and he doesn’t like this, he  _ really  _ doesn’t like this…

He’s moving. Not like the spinning feeling from before, but  _ really  _ moving. Up, if he had to guess a direction. All the blood feels like it rushes out of his head at once, leaving him dizzier than ever but, for a glorious second, pain-free. 

And then he stops moving, and the pain rushes back full force, slamming into his head with such strength that he physically feels his body get pushed back against whatever it is he’s laying on. 

Then he’s moving again, but in a different direction. Backwards? This time, there’s no accompanying lightheadedness, just an increased sense of disorientation that for a second makes him absolutely sure he’s going to be sick. 

The disorientation eventually lessens to its former state, though, letting him focus ever so slightly on other things. Multiple voices around him. A light shining above him, dotting his closed eyelids with stars. A hand holding onto him, the same as before, he knows, in that same instinctive way. 

_ Hank! _ his aching brain suddenly provides him with who, exactly, the person is. He tries to say something, let Hank know... _ something,  _ but his head hurts too much to do that, so he just squeezes Hank’s hand instead, tapping his fingers against it. Hank returns the tapping, and Nick feels for the first time that he’s going to be alright.

\--

He opens his eyes slowly. Bright light immediately floods into them, and he quickly snaps them shut. His head feels like it’s full of cotton, and there’s something that may very well  _ be  _ cotton pressing up against one side of it. It aches, dully, and there’s just enough nausea bubbling under his skin to make him feel uncomfortable. 

Something is in his right arm. An IV, probably. Further down, he feels a pulse monitor on his finger. His other hand…

Is  _ also  _ occupied, but not with anything that feels medical. Something warm, familiar, comforting. 

He risks opening his eyes again, squinting against the brightness of the room (which seems to only be coming in through a window and probably actually isn’t all that bright). His eyes travel to his hand and the one holding it, which is Hank’s hand, and there is Hank himself, sitting in a chair with a book splayed open across his lap, his head resting against the edge of the bed, fast asleep. Nick tries to smile at him, but the action makes his head throb, so he settles for squeezing his hand instead, an act that feels oddly familiar, though from what, he can’t tell. 

He hears Hank wake up, the momentary confusion quickly replaced with alertness. His head jerks up, hand slipping away from Nick. 

Nick meets his eyes. “Hi,” he whispers, feeling the word echo around inside his head. 

“Hi yourself,” Hank replies, smiling warmly. “How you feeling?”

“Been better,” Nick says, honestly. Hank laughs wryly. 

“I bet.”

“What…?”

He doesn’t remember...he remembers being with Hank, somewhere, remembers a light and some trees and then...nothing. Hank must know, though.

“I’ll tell you later. For now, maybe try and sleep some more.”

That sounds like a  _ fantastic  _ idea, Nick decides, already feeling his eyes start to close. Just before he gives in to the darkness, he reaches out his hand, hoping Hank will understand what he’s doing without words. He does. 

Hank’s hand grabs his own, and gently sets the joined pair down on the edge of the bed. “Sleep,” he repeats, tapping his fingers softly and calmingly on the back of Nick’s hand. 

Nick sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks for reading!!! anyway this is kinda pre-ship but like. it doesn't have to be. you do you but like. the Hands of it all...i am a simple man ok. anyhow pls leave a comment if you want, you will make me very happy!


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